One morel thrust from a patch
of processed mulch on Grove Street.
What mushroom thinking fruited
beside this busy sidewalk where
the post office crosswalk tempts
pedestrians to risk their lives?
We’ve just collected our mail,
a trash of advertisements. You note
the mushroom’s grave immodesty
and demand that I photograph it
before some greedy dog eats it
with a clumsy tongue-dangling smile.
In the cloudy light its colors
perfect themselves. The angle
of its attack looks slightly awry,
but its motive seems clear enough.
We’ll email the photo to friends
who appreciate mushroom-thoughts
in autumn, when so much nature
seems in retreat. We’ve never
seen a morel downtown where
lawyers and realtors conspire
to bare the local landscapes
and build shabby houses for gain.
Maybe the planted river birch
nearby will shed enough leaves
to safely conceal this fungus
until it has finished spreading
spores unlikely to flourish
in this busy little downtown.
You hope the mushroom’s aware
that we wish it well. At least
we’ve captured its portrait, posed
in thick but flattering light,
looking as we hope we would look
deep in the grip of reason.
